


this weight between our lungs

by Julx3tte



Series: sylvgrid week 2020 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Grief and Trauma, Ingrid was recruited, Sylvgrid Week (Fire Emblem), Sylvian was not, day 7 - free (angst), happy ending I promise, seriously just angst, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/Julx3tte
Summary: the end of sylvgrid week - heavy angst, some light spoilers. shoutout to the sylvgrid discord, to sunni, nicole, paperpenpal, for motivating me to write so much, and to nenalata for brainstorming the idea. please accept this piece to cap the week off.BE!Ingrid finds Sylvain in the battle for Fhirdiad --In both of those battles, the Crest of Flames and the Empire had fallen - Edelgard refused to repeat history.Ingrid’s part to play was her own doing: She’d requested to hunt the remaining Blue Lions down.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sylvgrid week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776286
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: Sylvgrid week 2020





	this weight between our lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperpenpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts), [sunnilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts), [Nenalata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/gifts), [nicole_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/gifts).



The sight of the battlefield caught Ingrid’s breath, a mix of disgust and tension. 

Of all of the sites of many the battles Ingrid had fought in in the last five years, few others had evoked the same sense of nausea. She was sure that she would actually puke as soon as things got started.

She circled the skies looking for a horse with a redheaded rider and gripped Luin so tightly she thought her knuckles might bleed.

* * *

The remaining Kingdom forces had set up a defensive line at the Tailtean Plains, just outside of Fhirdiad itself, and the Empire forces marching to the capital camped just a few hours walk away.

A victory here would end the war.

Edelgard was determined to finish it all - which was why, minutes before the battle, the Empire Pegasus corps took to the skies, high above arrow range, and set fire to the fields.

It was wrong. These fields fed thousands in Fhirdiad and the surrounding townships, and the loss of a generation of crops would have effects far after this battle.

It could have been worse. In any other battle, Ingrid would have taken to the skies herself. She’d run around these fields as a child, and it would have been good to see the lay of the land before it got started. Instead, the Eagles poured over a scouting map during the final war council before the battle.

The natural site of battle was the river - it cut the plains almost neatly in half, and the Kingdom army had set encampments - ballistas, raised platforms, and barriers all around the field, so much so that it reminded Ingrid that two other pivotal battles had taken place here. 

In both of those battles, the Crest of Flames and the Empire had fallen - Edelgard refused to repeat history.

Ingrid’s part to play was her own doing: She’d requested to hunt the remaining Blue Lions down.

The others had given her looks when she asked. 

Lysithea, the only other student who had joined the Eagles, understood, and smiled morosely. They’d spent more than a few nights encamped to talk about their former allies, and on the way out of the tent, the younger woman found Ingrid’s hand and held it for a moment. 

It was as much support as she would give, and as much as Ingrid could stand.

Ferdinand had a similar look, but left her alone, and Hubert merely nodded. The others refused to meet her eyes. 

Even Edelgard took… pause. She was charming when she wanted to be, and in a few rare times, even friendly. Tonight, she gave Ingrid a wide berth. It was a blessing or an affirmation that this duty was Ingrid’s.

The thing Ingrid told no one: only Sylvain was left standing.

* * *

He was easy to find. Between the red hair and the powerful blows from the Lance of Ruin, identifying Sylvain from the sky took moments.

Approaching him was another matter.

His horse was circling the ruins of some small building - as one of the last of Dimitri’s commanders he had to reserve himself from actually joining the battle. Ingrid sent her battalion to engage his units further down the river, and hoped no one would notice that she wasn’t actually with them.

She’d never faced Sylvain earnestly before. In practice, they mostly worked on technique over sparring - no point when they both used the same weapon.

Ingrid wasn’t sure if he would listen to what he had to say. She wasn’t sure herself what was going to come out of her mouth when they were finally face to face again.

It’s been five years -- how are you? No, there was just as much of a chance that their spears would clash before any conversation would happen.

But she couldn’t let that be the end of it. Not now. Not when he was the only one left, when all of their friends were dead, when Dimitri was sure to die -- she helped create the plans Edelgard would execute and there was no condition for a Kingdom victory. Not here, not today.

She didn’t lie to the others. She did come to hunt the remaining Blue Lion. But what she would do with him was another matter.

Ingrid would never be able to hurt Sylvain. Not even in life or death -- she was there when Miklan used him as a punching bag; heard from Glenn how he’d told the other boy to tone it down. Heard from Felix how Sylvain never spoke when the four of them played together.

She saw him at the monastery, driving himself to self destruction. There was nothing she could do about it then.

There was something she could do for him now. Even if he wouldn’t take the option, it hurt her heart too much not to offer it.

_ Just surrender to me, Sylvain. Please. _

Using the clouds for cover, she dove down to face him. 

* * *

He knew she was coming for him. As soon as Sylvain saw the pegasus battalion engage his troops, he dismounted and went to stand against a broken brick wall, spear planted into the ground. 

It must have frustrated her to see him so nonchalantly waiting.

He could see it in her stance as she landed by the river, mudding her boots. A poor tactical position, but she probably did it on purpose.

It was nerves, yeah, but she was pissed that he wasn’t even pretending like he was worried. She’d see it as disrespectful.

So, he goaded her.

“Stand down Ingrid. I know you don’t want to die here.”

“I will not,” she said, treading through the mudbank to the far edge of the wall he was on. “I won’t stand with the Kingdom now.”

Sylvain didn’t move a muscle. He wanted to goad her, but he didn’t think he had it in him to fight her. Even now - even after watching the others fall, even after seeing Ingrid on the other side of the battlefield, after watching her threaten Annette’s flank enough for someone else to take her down, even as Fhirdiad was at risk of falling - fighting Ingrid would be impossible.

He scoffed. “Stubborn as ever. I always did like that about you.”

A few yards away, Ingrid stiffened, her footsteps stopping momentarily. He’d hit a nerve at least. 

What he said was true. He did always like her stubbornness. It was why she left them to join Edelgard’s crusade against Crests. He might have too, if it meant that she and Dimitri wouldn’t have to cross blades. But as it stood, Dimitri would never stand down, and the others were devoted to him.

Not that he wasn’t. But if there were a ghost of a wish it could have gone another way, he would have wanted it.

“You never cease to amaze me with your false flattery. Don’t waste your breath.”

She was almost in spear’s range. Luin glowed in her hands, and she held it out in front of her.

But Sylvain didn’t move. He left the Lance of Ruin dug into the ground, gripping it loosely. There was a chance she’d try to kill him right there, and he wouldn’t let her do that. But anything else and it wasn’t worth it. 

“Here on Edelgard’s orders?” he asked. It probably looked like he was scorning, but truth be told, he wasn’t angry.

Sylvain was just glad that Ingrid was still alive.

“I’m not going to fight you Ingrid,” he said, raising his left palm up.

She stepped closer to him. Her armor was scratched and chipped, and she’d cut her hair short, finally. It looked good on her. The spearpoint could have hit his armor, if she wanted it to.

“So what are you going to do? Let me kill you?” Her hands tensed around Luin again. 

“It depends. Will you?” He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter. The look on Ingrid’s face wasn’t worth the taunt. 

She looked haunted. She stuck Luin into the ground, walked right up to him, and slapped him so hard his helmet came off.

“Are you stupid, Sylvain? How could you say that?” Her voice cracked, then. 

Ingrid was on the verge of tears. Sylvain could tell - her breathing changed, became shallower, and his resolve to, well, defy whatever it was she came here for broke.

He really didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Was there a way out of this without one of them dying? Maybe not. He was willing to -- die, at least, for Faerghus, but he wasn’t willing to put Ingrid through that.

Not after she’d already lost so much. 

He blinked.

“I…”

“You made me a promise, remember? Stay and protect me. Don’t go off and die on me while I’m not around.”

“I’m not dead yet,” he said, voice low. 

“But you’re there, and I’m here,” she replied. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I…” he trailed off, unsure what else to say.

“Just surrender, Sylvain. Tell them your men to lay down arms. Edelgard won’t murder everyone still alive,” Ingrid said flatly. 

Edelgard’s name sent a flash of anger through his chest. 

“Not everyone, just those of us with crests? I was there when she killed Annette. You really think Dimitri is going to give up Faerghus?” Sylvain knew his accusations weren’t fair, but he wasn’t trying to be. Ingrid, he could handle. He could surrender to her. But to Edelgard, the way the other Lions went down - he wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

To his surprise, Ingrid’s voice softened. 

“Faerghus needs you alive Sylvain. Don’t die here. What happens after the Empire wins? We’ll need leaders. People that can govern. If everyone falls, who’ll be left to heal?”

“Is this the script you gave everyone else? Ashe? Felix too?” he asked, wondering if she was at the battles when they fell.

Ingrid took a step back and turned her back to him, with his weapon still in his hands, and ripped off her helmet. She grabbed the back of her hair in frustration before turning back to face him. 

“Dammit Sylvain. STOP. Don’t. Just. Stop trying to goad me, stop being so inflammatory,” she yelled.

It was comforting to be scolded by her again, at least. He’d missed that.

“Don’t die here Sylvain. Not in some shitty battlefield, alone. Don’t waste your life now.”

What she meant was:  _ don’t make me the one to have to kill you here. Please. _

There was a reason he never went to seek her out in previous battles, even when he knew she was deployed: Ingrid was one of the few people he couldn’t say no to.

Not in their years of friendship. Every time she scolded him, asked him to stop something, he couldn’t say no. To her credit, she never asked for too much - she never asked him to stop chasing skirts or hurting himself. But he never went as far as to try to hurt her on purpose, either. 

But now that she was here, that she was the one that sought him out, now that he’d failed for half a decade to protect her from all of the horrors they’d seen - he could spare her one thing.

_ Sorry Dimitri, I’ll have to catch up with you all. I can’t leave Ingrid alone. One of us should be around to stay with her and I guess it’s me for now. Forgive me. _

* * *

“Okay. I surrender to you.”

Ingrid threw the Lance of Ruin at her, and raised his hands up by his shoulders. 

“What will you do with me?”

Ingrid blinked. She didn’t… know if she expected this. 

She was ready for a fight, even if it was just using their fists. Not for him to lay down arms and let her take him in.

She wasn’t even sure how the rest of the Eagles would react to a prisoner of war. 

“I’m going to take you back to our camp and put you in a cell for a while. You’ll have to wait there until the war ends and then…” the rest of the sentence was something she couldn’t continue.

She searched Sylvain’s face for a deception, some kind of falsehood, but he meant it.

Maybe he knew how badly she didn’t want to kill him - or that she couldn’t have. That she would have rather him kill her first, or incapacitate her somehow. That she would have rather waited here together for the battle to end if she could have.

This was the next best thing. They could deal with after the war, well, after the war.

On the pegasus flight back, Sylvain, who held her waist behind her to steady himself, said only two words. “I’m sorry.” 

None of the Eagles said a word when she came to camp with Sylvain in tow and two spears in hand. 

Dorothea nodded at him, less of an acknowledgement and more of an apology, and Edelgard hid herself from his sight out of respect. Caspar, who’d always been the most approachable of them all, helped her find an unused room in the building they were using and put cuffs on Sylvain’s hands.

Sylvain didn’t pretend to be defiant, but it was clear he wasn’t comfortable sitting in the Eagles’ camp, filled with Adrestian banners and the Crest of Flames. 

It was a miracle she didn’t puke when he sat down on the bare cot in the room. There wasn’t much else in it, but Caspar had thought to leave some food and water just in case.

“This is just for now Sylvain. We’ll move you after… after. I’ll make sure no one comes by.” She hoped he knew better than to try an escape now, and anyway, it wouldn’t matter anymore. In just a few hours it would all be over.

“I’ll wait for you,” Sylvian said, flashing a weak smile. 

If she were being honest, she didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t want to see Edelgard cut through the Kingdom forces to Dimitri.

She wanted to be next to Sylvain when the victory trumpets sounded so they could both mourn.

But duty - the last of her damned duties - demanded that she see through the end, so she did. She stayed close to Lysithea, acting as her cover as they blazed a path up the right hand column. She dodged arrows unconsciously, letting years of battle experience take over, and thrust her spear with the same precision as in the practice room.

When Edelgard locked blades with Dimitri, she looked away, thinking about the tiny room in the house in the middle of nowhere that Sylvain waited in. 

She saved him, at least. It was enough. 

* * *

Sylvain woke to the sound of trumpets, and knew that the battle was over. 

It was unbecoming of a noble, but he picked up the flimsy chair that stood in the center of the room and smashed it against the wall.

How many? How many allies would fall, and how many would fall without him by their side? 

He’d failed to reinforce Annette quickly enough months ago. Before that, they couldn’t spare the main force to Ashe’s defense. Even Felix - he should have died with Felix. But the stupid idiot pushed him to the other side of the gate at the last second and had the audacity to grin.

But he’d made his choice, and he’d have to live with it.

They let him keep his armor, but it was hot in the room and it was hard to breathe, so he stripped it off, threw the pauldrons and the chest plate and the greaves against the walls and sat down again.

And stood up again.

As long as Ingrid was fine. She had to be -- she was too good -- captured him all by herself, the lone commander left standing. She would return soon, and --

He was spiraling out, and it needed to stop.

Sylvain focused on breathing, focused on why he was in this room and not on the battlefield, charging through the lines and defending Dimitri with his life.

The thought of Ingrid swarmed his thoughts, and he gripped his thumb so tightly he could have ripped it off if he pulled.

Years ago he promised to protect her, to keep her safe on the battlefield. She’d never need it - she was too good, too fast to need it. But he’d always wished he could do more than that.

He’d told her, then, to stay friends forever, but truth be told he was scared. Scared that any more would ruin everything they had, and he couldn’t bear that.

What she didn’t know was: after she’d scolded him about skirt chasing a few months before, he’d stopped. The situation around the monastery was getting too serious anyway, after Miklan. But there was another reason, too. She’d asked him to think about his actions, told him about how badly Glenn’s death affected her. 

He’d seen them firsthand, and he never wanted to affect her like that - like the way she locked herself away when he died, lost a part of herself. 

It was hard to think about anything else when he cared so much about making sure he never hurt her like that. 

* * *

Sylvain was asleep when Ingrid got back.

She refused the celebrations back at camp - she and Lysithea and Bernie returned to their rooms and she all but threw her armor onto the ground before coming to find Sylvain.

He looked peaceful, but the state of the room said otherwise. There were dents in the wall like he’d thrown his armor around, and what little furniture the room came with was smashed and shattered. 

She came to lay by him on the cot and, finally, let the first of the tears fall from her eyes. 

Sylvain woke when she started shaking and put his arms around her. The moonlight came in through a small window and a few holes in the roof and reflected off of the floors.

A half decade of battles, of war, of seeing her former classmates on the other side. The death of thousands, dozens by her own hands. She was ready for it all to be over. 

She learned from Bernie how to control her tears. How to keep them quiet and shed them privately, or between battles.

She couldn’t access that control now. 

Ingrid let the knightly facade fall away from her and let herself be overcome. 

In between sobs, she registered that there were arms around her, rubbing circles on her back with strong fingers, hands tucking her into the crook of a neck.

Sylvain. 

She had grown close to the Black Eagles but none of them had known her as long as Sylvain had. He was there when she loved and mourned Glenn, buried him and a part of herself away. He’d seen her get scolded for eating too fast at the dinner table, laughed afterwards when she’d sneak some extra dessert in the hems of her dresses.

He’d been there to listen when she was genuinely worried - about him, about Dimitri, about how things at the monastery only seemed to be getting worse.

He’d been there to laugh at the suitors that came after her. 

She was there for him, too. She’d been there for him when Miklan died, stood right by his side when he’d turned into a beast and Sylvian’s face turned pale -- she was the one that held him when he threw up after the battle was over.

Of everyone she could have saved, of anyone in Fodlan that she could have bared the enormous sense of relief and guilt she felt weighing her chest down, sitting in between her lungs, shaking and wheezing their way out of her breath by breath --

She clasped her hands around Sylvain’s back and squeezed.

He seemed to know what she needed to hear.

“You saved me, Ingrid,” he whispered. Every syllable sent another shock through her body. “If nothing else, I’m here. I’m still alive. I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you.”

He was alive, he was alive and it was his arms around her, his hands holding her to him, his neck that kept her safe, that caught her as she broke apart the last 5 years of armor she’d put around her. 

She fought to get the words out that she needed to.

“Promise me,” she asked, knowing that he’d always kept his promises to her.

He kissed her on the forehead and held her.

“I promise.” 


End file.
